


Whitly Wishes

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired), ToriCeratops



Series: Sanyo's Labyrinth [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Labyrinth Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Getting to Know Each Other, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Older Man/Younger Man, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Second Chances, betrothal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/ToriCeratops
Summary: Ainsley sorta, maybe accidentally wishes her older brother away -and right into the arms of the Goblin King.---Story by holyfudgemonkeys, art by ToriCeratops
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Series: Sanyo's Labyrinth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059356
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalsanyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/gifts).



> SANYO!! I have had this fic done for over a month now and have had to keep it secret and now I can finally reveal it!!!! And Tori sending me progress shots of her art made it even harder to keep quiet XD. I imagine you never expected to get a labyrinth fusion you didn't write yourself...
> 
> but that's what birthdays are for!! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (which, spoiler alert, it was a blast). And have fun figuring out the goblin cameos, too ;) Love you, you wild wonderful woman!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3

When she knocks on his bedroom door, she almost doesn’t expect him to answer. 

He will, though, because Malcolm always forgives her. It doesn’t matter what the offense was. He brushes it aside because she’s his baby sister. 

Ainsley wishes he didn’t have to. 

And maybe this time, he won’t. There’s no response.

Balancing the tray of pancakes, she turns the knob and peeks her head in. “Mal?”

The bed is empty. It’s also unmade. Malcolm _always_ makes his bed. 

Ainsley frowns. She checks the ensuite bathroom, but it’s empty, the light off, his toothbrush dry in the holder by the tap. 

The maid hasn’t seen him. 

Neither has the cook. 

Adolpho swears he hasn’t taken Malcolm anywhere in days. 

Ainsley makes all of them promise not to say anything to her mother — yet.

(“I wish you were gone,” she shrieked. “I wish you’d left with Dad!”

Malcolm’s face fell. He paled, bit his lip, and nodded to himself before turning heel and leaving with a quiet _Night Ainsley._

She’s pretty sure she’ll never forget that moment. Not the way he shrunk in on himself, nor the way his voice was small, drifting away just as he was.)

Malcolm went to sleep in his own bed. He knows that for a fact. He dropped his head on the pillows, let them soak up his tears, his blanket pulled over his head. 

It’s not like Ainsley meant what she said. He knew that as soon as the words passed her lips. She never meant anything she said when she got mad like that; it was all her frustration coming out on the easiest target. It isn’t _her_ fault their mother treats him like the most fragile thing in the house, that Ainsley’s freedom suffers for it. She’s a teenager. He’s, technically, an adult, though only for a few months so far. If anything, he should be responsible for her, not her for him, but their mother has appointed her his babysitter.

Now, though, he’s not thinking much about either of the Whitly women. He’s sitting up in a bed not his own, one that’s nothing like any of the guest beds in his home. The bedding is fine. Soft. Expensive. The walls around him are stone, rustic in texture and a beautiful slate gray in color. Deep blue curtains flutter with the breeze.

He clambors out of the bed, hissing as his bare feet hit freezing stone. The cold seeps into him on the short walk to the window. He parts the curtains with a hesitant hand.

Outside is a new world. He’s never seen anything like it. There’s more stone below him, structures that resemble things he’s only seen in history books. 

Is he in a castle?

An elaborate one, too, because there’s a labyrinth at the base of it, one that stretches as far as he can see, the paths twisting here and there, some of them with no visible entrances or exits. 

Malcolm’s lips part. He takes an uncertain step back.

And then another. And then he’s gripping the heavy handle on the door, desperately turning it to no avail. It’s locked on the other side. He pounds a flat palm on the thick wood. “Hello?”

There’s no response the first, second, or even fifth times he tries. 

With a numb heart, Malcolm curls up in the bed again, if only to warm his feet. 

The door opens at some point later. It feels like it’s been forever, but the light coming through the window hasn’t changed much at all. 

There’s no one there —

No, there _is_. They’re short, maybe a foot tall. A small green creature with ears large in both height and width, bare, clawed feet padding across the floor. It jumps up on the bed and stares at him, stuffing its hands into leather pockets. “So you’re awake now. Good, good.”

His mind races. “Where am I?”

“At the castle, duh.” The creature taps its foot against the sheets. “Get up, or we’ll be late. Best not to keep the king waiting.”

Slowly, Malcolm pulls himself from the covers. He’s not looking forward to walking across the floor again. “The king?” Something niggles at the back of his mind, but it eludes him when he tries to chase it down. 

The creature rolls its eyes. “The Goblin King. You can walk, can’t you?”

“My feet,” Malcolm says faintly. The… being in front of him must be a goblin then. “The floor is cold.”

Hopping back off the bed, the goblin scurries under it, coming back out with a pair of soft, fur-lined slippers. “I forgot how sensitive you creatures are. Now come _on_.”

The slippers are surprisingly warm. Malcolm murmurs a thank you but otherwise keeps his attention on their surroundings as the goblin leads him out of the room for the first time. 

The hallway looks just like what you would imagine a castle hall to. There are banners along the walls, candles set in iron sconces at even intervals, and it ends in a spiral staircase. No wonder he could see so far out from the window. That room must be at the top of a tower. 

The room the stairs lead them to is vast, more of a hall or — a throne room.

Surrounded by goblins, up on a secondary level, sits an elaborate throne. Sprawled across it is a man.

Malcolm stares, barely realizing he’s stopped walking, that the goblin leading him is tugging on his sleep pants. 

The man on the throne must be the Goblin King. His dark hair is brushed back out of his face, and it sits that way despite how he shifts his head to laugh at something one of the goblins said, bright white teeth flashing with the hearty sound. He’s bearded, too, a goatee framing his wide grin. His clothes are — tight. Tight pants tucked into knee high boots. A blouse that clings to his hips where it meets his waistband, billowing out at the sleeves, the top three buttons undone. When he catches sight of Malcolm, his eyes are a rich, beautiful brown. 

A tug pulls Malcolm’s gaze away from him. He flushes, looking down at the impatient goblin, and when he lifts his head once more, he nearly falls over.

The Goblin King is right in front of him. He steadies Malcolm with a sure hand on his waist. “You’re awake,” he says warmly.

“So I’ve been told,” Malcolm quips. He can feel the heat of his palm through the thin t-shirt he wore to bed. “You’re the Goblin King.”

“Virgil,” the King says, taking Malcolm’s hand in his other. “But please, call me Gil.” 

A part of Malcolm wants to point out that that doesn’t particularly make sense. He pronounces his nickname with a distinct _G_ sound, but his full given name has a _J_ sound and —

Gil lifts their clasped hands, pulling him closer by the waist, and starts to dance. The goblins around them make way and form a loose circle as he turns them step by step.

Malcolm’s lessons kick in immediately. He keeps up with Gil easily, having learned how to both lead and follow on a whim. It’s not like he had friends to spend time with. Being a good son was something he focused in on for his mother’s sake, knowing that while nothing he did could make anyone outside of the family think any good of him anyway, he could make _her_ happy. 

This, though, this he enjoys more than any of his lessons. He knows nearly nothing about the man leading him, and yet… Malcolm feels his cheeks color as he throws himself into the dance. It’s silly. Gil is fully dressed, regal and handsome, and Malcolm is in his pajamas. He doesn’t want to know what his hair looks like. 

(He loves it.)

His enthusiasm makes Gil smile wider, his eyes crinkling fondly. “See,” he says to the room at large, “I told you he’d fit in wonderfully.”

The goblins around them murmur in agreement. 

“The perfect match,” Gil continues. “The new King to your old King.”

Malcolm blinks. His feet are still moving, somehow. “What?”

“You’re my betrothed, of course.” With a hum, Gil tilts his head. “Or, you will be once your sister fails to solve my labyrinth in time.” He lets go of Malcolm’s waist and twirls him around.

Malcolm sees all of the expectant faces around them and realizes it might not be such a great idea to pull away just yet. He bites his lip as Gil’s hand comes to rest on his waist once again. “How long does she have?” He needs to make a plan. Just in case Ainsley can’t solve it. Malcolm can’t see how she could, not with how convoluted it looked from the window. 

And as handsome as Gil is? Malcolm’s not sure he wants to marry a man he doesn’t know.

A man who wants him to accept a marriage he never agreed to.

Gil hums, turning his gaze to a goblin with a regal air, a small kitty perched on her shoulders, though with how small she is, the white and striped cat certainly looks full grown. 

She grins, teeth sharp, and reaches up to give the cat a few scritches. “Thirteen hours now.”

“How time flies,” Gil says with a satisfied smile. He rubs Malcolm’s hand with his thumb. “In thirteen hours, all of this will be yours.”

“My liege,” another goblin says, this time from right behind Malcolm, who startles, nearly tripping over her. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Gil’s smile dissipates. Although he keeps their hands clasped, he lets go of Malcolm’s waist to fully face her. “What is it?”

“The girl has made tremendous progress.”

Ainsley! Malcolm swallows down his surprise with a hefty bit of guilt. Of course she’d come for him; he shouldn’t have doubted her. She must be very determined, too, if she’s beating that labyrinth. Maybe it’s not so difficult after all?

His jaw clenches. Bringing their hands up to his mouth, he lays a soft kiss on Malcolm’s before pulling away. “I must deal with this, but it won’t be long.”

“Wait,” Malcolm blurts out. He grabs for his hand again, feeling the burn in his cheeks when Gil turns a delighted look his way. “One more dance?” 

Gil’s brow creases, confliction written in every line. “One,” he concedes. “And we will have plenty of time for more once I return.”

_Keep moving, Ainsley._

They begin to dance again. The ruckus from the goblins around them resumes, though not as loudly, the knowledge that his sister is approaching weighing heavily on the atmosphere in the throne room. 

“I never thought of myself as king material,” Malcolm says cautiously. He watches Gil carefully to make sure his smile doesn’t wane. “I have a trust fund, but it doesn’t look like you would need the money.”

Gil chuckles. “I’m not after your trust fund, kid.” He twirls him effortlessly. 

“They why? Why me?”

“Do you really think so little of yourself?” Gil’s smile does dip now, but it grows again as he stops moving. He gives him another kiss on the hand.

Then he’s gone. 

Malcolm gapes at the empty space in front of him. 

The goblins stare at him, whispering. 

Clearing his throat, Malcolm puts aside his shock and nods to himself. “Which one of you can tell me more about the labyrinth?” His voice is shaky, but his focus is strong. 

“Us,” a goblin shouts, waving a hand over the crowd. The other goblins let her and another through to him. Her curls are pulled up in a loose bun and secured with delicate vines entwined with crystals. “We grew the hedges.”

Her companion nods. A rat peeks its head out of her shirt. “We have the greenest thumbs in the land,” she says with quite a humble amount of pride. 

There’s a murmur amongst the others, mostly about whether or not King Gil will be mad about them sharing information. The goblin refreshing the food tables snorts, adjusts her chef hat, and twirls the edge of her mustache. “And how would he tell the girl, anyway? Let them talk.”

“So,” Malcolm says, determined, sitting on the ground in front of the two goblins, “what can you tell me?”

Gil’s return is announced by a soft clapping. He’s standing behind a still seated Malcolm and smiling down at the three of them. “Did I not tell you all he would be perfect? I leave for ten minutes, and already you’re getting to know your subjects.” There’s a pep in his step that wasn’t there when he left.

And that is enough for Malcolm to worry. “Is Ainsley okay?”

Gil blinks. “Ainsley?”

“My sister.”

“Ah. She’s fine,” Gil assures him warmly. “Absolutely fine, though she’s certainly running out of time. Poor girl won’t make the wedding at that pace.”

Malcolm feels his heart stop. “I thought she was making progress.”

“She is, but with only eight hours remaining, I’m afraid she won’t be solving the labyrinth in time.” Which obviously pleases Gil. His smile is soft and happy and _unbearable_. 

Eight hours. Eight hours until he’s married.

Gil brushes away a tear with a calloused thumb. “Don’t be sad,” he murmurs. His giddiness has faded in the wake of it, and he looks genuinely remorseful. “I’ll create you the most beautiful ring and a well-tailored suit for the ceremony. A blue stone to match your eyes and a white tuxedo, I think. I’ll even bring her here if you wish.”

Eight hours to get himself free. 

Instead of another dance, Gil pulls him over to the throne this time. He sits on the large chair and tugs Malcolm down into his lap, wrapping his arms around him in what would be a comforting gesture if not for the way Malcolm’s mind races for a solution. “Where’s my beastmaster?” he says as he scans the crowd. 

The goblins part again. This time, no goblin walks forward. 

No, this time, a goblin rides in on the back of an orange and white cat. There’s a saddle and everything, and the cat’s tail flicks happily as he trots forward carrying his charge. The goblin dismounts, giving him a good pet. “You rang?”

“Do you have anything to lift your future king’s spirits?” Gil gently entwines their fingers. 

She squints at Malcolm for a moment and then nods. Swinging herself back up onto her cat, she quickly departs. 

It takes no more than five minutes for her to return, and when she does, it’s with a little yellow bird perched on her head. “This should do the trick.”

The bird flies right to him. 

Malcolm puts out his hand without thinking, letting her perch there. And he knows she’s a her, because his gut is telling him this isn’t just any bird. This is his Sunshine. His childhood bird, the bird he felt such a kinship with, that he often looked at and saw himself within, a poor creature stuck in a cage. 

He let her out one summer in a fit of helplessness and hasn’t seen her since. 

Behind him, Gil’s face is one of nervous expectation. The nerves are hidden for the most part, and Malcolm might not have even noticed them if his own turbulent childhood hadn’t made him quite good at judging the moods of the people around him. 

Malcolm bites his lip. He has an odd feeling the King knew _exactly_ what creature he was asking for. “Thank you.”

Gil smiles a brilliant smile.

The next time the quiet goblin comes out of nowhere bearing bad news, Malcolm knows the man feeding him little morsels of cheese much better. 

So, when Gil gently removes him from his lap and moves to leave again, he’s stopped just as he was the first time. 

Now, however, Malcolm has a plan. “You’re not playing fair,” he says bluntly. “You never intended to give her a chance of winning, and now that she’s doing better than you expected, you’re cheating.”

“I created the rules,” Gil reminds him not unkindly. 

“And _I_ never signed up for this game,” Malcolm shoots back. “Or this betrothal.”

The party around them dies down, the goblins looking at each other nervously. 

“If you play fair,” he continues, “maybe I’ll stay. _Maybe_.”

The look Gil gives him now is flat, but it doesn’t manage to cover the split second of devastation that strikes before he gets ahold of himself. He pulls away from Malcolm without a word, though without a hint of anger in his movements, either, and then he’s gone.

And so is Malcolm.

He’s dancing again.

With Gil — whose footwork stutters when their eyes meet. He’s in different clothes, too, something more formal, something befitting the party around them. It’s different from the party they just left. There are intricately decorated tables all over, filled with goblins in their best attire drinking and eating. At one table, a goblin with long dark hair flowing over her shoulders and covering her chest is spinning a tale that has the rest of them in stitches. At another, several goblins are cheering two on as they chug mugs of wine. 

Interesting. Malcolm follows his lead. “You weren’t planning on bringing me along,” he observes. He’s also in different clothes, his pajamas having been swapped for a crisp white tuxedo. Privately, he acknowledges they must make a stunning picture together. 

“No,” Gil murmurs, “I wasn’t.” He turns them quickly, hastily, and while he’s doing so —

 _Ainsley_. She’s wandering around in a dark blue pantsuit, confused.

Malcolm catches her gaze, and they stare at each other in shock for what feels like minutes but must be a second or two, tops. He watches her push past goblin after goblin on her way to him.

But Gil is ahead of her. They’re dancing in a different place within the blink of an eye. 

“Please stop teasing her,” Malcolm says after the third such time. 

The world around them fades, their clothes bleeding back to what they were before, and Ainsley disappears just as soon as he sees her push past another group. They’re in the throne room again. 

Malcolm is the one to pull him into a dance this time, picking up right where they left off. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Always.”

“I think you’re lonely,” Malcolm says quietly. He doesn’t let Gil stop moving. “I think you’re lonely and you recognized that I’m lonely, too. I think you love your subjects, but they aren’t able to give you every kind of companionship you need. I think you saw a bit of yourself in me. I think you were too eager for the possibility you saw in me to consider asking rather than taking.”

Gil gives him a tired smile. “You think quite a lot, kid.”

Malcolm returns it. “I don’t exactly have friends.” He nudges Gil into twirling him. “You want to know my last thought?”

“Of course.”

And now Malcolm stops dancing, looking right into Gil’s eyes and not letting go of his hand. “I think we’ve met before.”

Gil takes a deep breath. “Why don’t I tell you a story?”

“But —”

“Some years ago, a young boy made a wish,” Gil continues, talking over him very purposefully.

Something keeps Malcolm from trying to interrupt again. Something that insists he needs to hear this, to remember it.

“He was very scared, but not for himself.” Gil’s gaze is unfocused. “He was afraid for the poor woman trapped in his basement. He was worried for his mother and sister. He was terrified his father would find another to torment as soon as he was done with his current captive.”

The woman — the _box_. 

Gil squeezes his hand. “He wished very hard. He wished his father wouldn’t be able to harm another being. He wished he was gone.”

Malcolm is shaking. He remembers crying himself to sleep that night, not wanting his dad to disappear but knowing it would be better if he did. He remembers his mother’s panic as one day turned to three turned to weeks of cops ripping her house apart without word from the man. 

“I thought he was interesting,” Gil says fondly. “A brave kid, for sure. I did as he asked, and then I watched as he freed the woman in the basement. I watched as he helped her as the drugs wore off. I watched as he let her go, knowing she was likely to go to the police and lead them back to his family.”

She did. She was kind to him, but within hours of her walking away, the NYPD received a tip about The Surgeon. 

They found his father’s workshop, his books filled with detailed drawings and notes. It was over for the Whitly family, and his father wasn’t even around to take his just desserts.

“I thought about him often, especially when a little yellow bird found my castle and chattered on about him. Still, I never checked on him — until his sister wished he, too, was gone. I was curious and found he’d grown into a handsome man with all of the qualities I admired in him the first time we met and more.” Gil lifts their hands up and kisses Malcolm’s. “I… I apologize for not giving you a choice. Consider the wedding called off.”

“The betrothal?”

“Off.”

Malcolm leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth, his soft goatee beneath his lips. “Thank you, Gil.”

Ainsley takes a deep breath and throws open the doors to the throne room. “I beat your stupid labyrinth,” she shouts. “Now, let my brother go!”

“In more than enough time,” Jin shouts from her side, glaring up at the Goblin King with a ferocity he never would have managed without her friendship. 

The King sighs from where he’s sprawled across his throne. “I’m afraid you’re too late.”

“I have another —”

“He means that I’ve already been rescued,” Malcolm interrupts, pulling away from a group of goblins he was talking to. A very familiar bird flies down to land on his shoulder. “I was just waiting for you to get here. Let’s go home, Ains.”

She deflates but drags him into a hug a moment later, careful of Sunshine. “I’m so sorry,” she says, sobbing. “I didn’t mean it, I swear, I —”

He hugs back tight. “I know, I know.” He smiles at her. “C’mon.”

As they walk out the door, she notices him looking back at the King. It doesn’t matter though. 

She has her brother back.

It takes a few hours for Ainsley to let him out of her sight. It’s sweet, in a way, but, at the same time, Malcolm’s starting to understand just why she protests every single time their mother insists she stay behind to keep him company. He finally manages to pry her off him in time for bed — and even then, she tearfully insists he leaves his door open all night. 

He pulls on a fresh pair of pajamas. He parts the curtains and leans on the windowsill, looking out over their property, out over the street and the city beyond. 

The only evidence that it was all real is Sunshine, perched on his head.

An owl hoots from one of the trees.

Malcolm glances over at it and smiles. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” he promises. “Wait for me?”

The owl stares and flies off.


	2. Sanyo by ToriCeratops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art for the fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tori was really interested in making you some cute ass art for your birthday, Sanyo!! Here's a very special gob...

_At one table, a goblin with long dark hair flowing over her shoulders and covering her chest is spinning a tale that has the rest of them in stitches._


End file.
